


A Little Sharp

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: pietro plays guitar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 19:05:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4031206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint liked music.<br/>He’d always liked music, it just wasn’t something that was ever brought up. Usually at the blatant irony of the situation, a deaf man liking melody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Sharp

  
****

Clint liked music.

He’d always liked music, it just wasn’t something that was ever brought up. Usually at the blatant irony of the situation, a deaf man liking melody. Not entirely deaf, but enough to make the idea amusing. Maybe he just liked the culture, or the way that it felt like an indulgence to him. The way he only hears music when things are calm, and things are alright.

And maybe it turns into a little more, maybe it changes just a little bit, the first time he hears chords and strings that drug up faint and dusty memories. It’s a simple melody, from behind a doorway in his own home. Muffled and in no rush, the song runs around the edges of the door and pools in Clint’s chest.

The voice is sort of gruff, but comfortable. Clint can imagine, almost, the boy leaning against the wall, backs of his shoulders resting just against the windowsill. It’s almost funny, because Clint can hear the strings being plucked and strummed, and can hear the raspy voice, but he just doesn’t wrap his head around the fact that it’s Pietro.

But he’s the only other one in the house. So Clint quietly leans against the wall and listens....

This was.. something private. Something obviously personal. Pinpricks of guilt prod at him but it isn’t enough to pull his attention away. So he listens, and closes his eyes. The music lulls him, makes him safe and comfortable and-

And it halts.

Clint opens his eyes again, almost startled. It stays silent, the air empty, begging for one more chord to fill its hungering space. Just one more, Just one more…

He stands in the hallway another moment, just as silent as the starving desperation hanging between he and the door. And then he places his fingertips on the dark wood.. and pushes.

The chipped door lazily opens up, giving passage to the curious person behind. Pietro is sitting on his bed, exactly as Clint had imagined him. He sends Clint a wary look, as if uncertain. Clint hesitates for all of a second, before stepping into the messy bedroom and letting the door creep shut.

He doesn’t say anything, just moves over to the bed and sits down. Pietro’s fingers tighten almost nervously around the instruments neck. Clint silently leans his back against the digging edge of a faded white windowsill and pulls his legs onto the sheets next to the boys. He glances to the guitar, then up to Pietro’s eyes, a silent question.

“Wanda liked music. I learned.” He says simply, voice softer than the usual bite. Clint nods and relaxes with a sigh, still not saying anything. A few more hungry seconds.. the sound of a vibrating string fills the small room. Clint smiles tiredly and allows himself to lean against the other man’s side, despite the rhythmic movements of his arm.

Clint’s eyes close while Pietro’s strung form softens and presses back into his touch. He smiles, warm and content, as a low voice starts to sing again. The warmth of his body moves closer, leaning back against him. Music meant that things were safe, for a time. That things are calm.. And that family was nearby.

God damn, he’s gone soft. (Maybe it’s not such a bad thing…)

(If Wade ever finds out, he’ll never let Clint live it down)


End file.
